I feel SICK
by Lady Pickles
Summary: One-shot, my day only with Luxord. 2007.


So this is a bitch fanfiction about my day pretty much

So this is a bitch fanfiction about my day pretty much. Typical whiner emo crap, I know, but I just wanted to get it out, to calm me down before I bit anymore heads off just because they were trying to talk to me. Now that I have this off my chest, I think I am feeling slightly better. Ramen, it's not because I'm mad or anything at you, I just don't like talking things out. Sorry for snapping at you. There's nothing more I hate than having to share my thoughts with people. Especially if they're about myself. So I'm going to write this, just to show that I am trying to deal with this shit, even if it is a little biased.

To anyone else reading this, it won't make sense, might sound like another whiny fanfiction from someone whining about their day. Well, that may be true, but it take a lot before I snap. There's few people I talk with, and fewer in confide in. So writing this, getting it out, makes me feel better than anything else. And yes, the contents of this chapter are all based on actual events. I did burn a bully's hand. I did get sop dumped on me. The shoes were actually chucks that went to my knees, and I was very proud of them. Seventy dollars, and they were ruined by chicken soup.

So, I'm dome emo-ing around, feel free to respond or whatever the fuck you feel like doing.

Later;

Lady Pickles aka Cornflake Girl

****

_Graffiti decorations  
Underneath a sky of dust  
A constant wave of tension  
On top of broken trust  
The lessons that you taught me  
I learned were never true  
Now I find myself in question  
__**[they point the finger at me again]**__  
Guilty by association  
__**[you point the finger at me again]**_

_I wanna run away  
Never say goodbye  
I wanna know the truth  
Instead of wondering why  
I wanna know the answers  
No more lies  
I wanna shut the door  
And open up my mind  
_-"Runaway" – Linkin Park

He sat on his bed, twirling the lighter between his fingers. School. His azure eyes closed slowly, before he opened them again, anger blaring from his eyes. Anger and weariness. Endless weariness that went on for miles and miles. Toying with the lighter some, he looked down, and watched the glow. It had been a present to himself, from himself for a birthday he didn't tell anyone about, and people let pass. He swallowed anger and rage, and stood, bending down to his floor to pull on a pair of black jeans, and a black hoodie. It sported Jack, from Nightmare Before Christmas, and he loved the feel of the skeleton head on his chest. Running a hand through platinum blonde hair, the teen looked to the side, and shifted uncomfortably by his bed. It was going to be another long day. He was excited though, to show off his new shoes that he'd spent all of his money on. He'd saved up what he could. His parents had promised them to him a month from now, but he didn't want to wait so long to see them on his feet. Sleek and beautiful, chucks made of soft molded leather. All black. So soft and comfortable. A part of him unsure if he should be taking them or not, but he decided no one would care anyways.

Running up from his room, up the stairs, he grabbed his bag along the way. His back was stiff from sleeping in a cold room all night, and he was so very, very tired from staying up late with a friend, and then getting up very early to work out. But he wasn't going to say anything. He never did. No one asked, and he never spilled anything out. Didn't need to, if no one was going to care enough to bitch it out of him. Azure eyes closed softly, and he rubbed his face tiredly, trying not to swoon on the stairs. He was so tired it hurt, literally. After straightening up, he stomped up the rest of the steps to go to the bathroom, and work on his hair, ignoring his father and brothers in the kitchen. Bending over the sink, he ran a hand through his hair, and then decided to spike it up. Although it was so short, it sort of did that on its own. Trimming his goatee till it was smooth, and glossy, he offered a weak smile to the mirror. Looking in his own reflection? It hurt. Like he was trying to stab himself over and over again. His hand gently wandered to his left wrist, and stroked the sleeve there. He could faintly feel the bumps from scabs underneath it, and he let his forehead rest against the mirror, hoping the day wouldn't kill him.

The door pounded, as his father yelled at him. "Get out already!"

He turned his head, and nearly growled. Solace was gone, and it was time to face the real world. Burdened with sins not of his own doing from a past he didn't ask for, he stepped out, and looked at his dad. The man was a tall male, with long black hair, with silver streaks, he was missing an eye, and a scar covered a cheek. He wanted to spit at the man. His mother running down the stairs, her blonde hair short, and close to her head. Her bangs stuck out like antenna, flapping in the breeze, as she waved good-bye, before leaving for work. Her green eyes caught her eldest sons, and she just shook her head leaving.

He didn't know what hurt worse. Her disappointment, or his.

"You eating?" His father asked, as he sat at the table.

"No. I'll just take the kids to school." He did everyday anyways. Today was no different right? He put on a bright smile for his dad, as he ushered his brothers out the door. The middle being only two years his junior and had blonde hair and green eyes. His face could scare a child from a mile away, and make babies cry when he laughed. His younger brother being cute, with dirty blonde hair, and blue eyes, and a tiny body, as he bounced around. Ten years his junior, and as annoying as hell. He didn't know which of his brothers he was beginning to hate more. Either way, one was a fucking know it all, and the other argued on every little detail and bitched at him for knowing nothing.

Getting into the car, he waited for the brothers to get it. It was silence on the way to dropping the baby brother off. More silence on the way to the school. He didn't open his mouth, and neither did his brother. They got to school in total ignorance of each other. Once parked, his brother bolted out, darting for his group of punk nerd rejects on the school steps. Locking the car, he sighed, and closed his azure eyes. It hurt to look at the school. Truly it was a beautiful building, old worldly. Victorian and luscious, with its sweeping towers, and gargoyles. He'd have wanted to be there if the inside wasn't hell on earth. His mind churned, and he thought back to a smaller, more modern building, with eyes watching behind every door, their smiles wide and evil. Waiting for him to make one fucking mistake. To make one false move, so they could pounce on him, and rip his innards out. Didn't he already have enough of his soul torn off? Wasn't his heart already a mangled bleeding reflection of what it once was?

He walked across the street, without incident, and, seeing his brother, he waved his hand. His brother promptly looked the other way, not wanting to be associated with the reject of the ENTIRE school. The weird one, the strange one, the fucking ass hat who couldn't even open a locker, or remember his classroom. The one who fought back when picked on, and didn't take anything lying down. He'd done that already, and his body bore so many of their scars. Many of them on his back and shoulders, from their knives, and rocks, which bit into his flesh. He stepped into the hall, and went immediately to the library. There he was safe, there no one talked to him, except the librarians, and there he was good enough to be ignored.

They looked at him, and when he turned to look back at them, they averted their eyes, and looked away. Ashamed to be caught staring. Ashamed they were even remotely interested in the freak. The loser. The strange one. He was used to it. Having dealt with it for years, dealt with no one to lean on. No one to talk to. No one who cared enough to ask him what was really in his mind, and let him spill forth the lies, the pain, the abuse, the betrayal, his pains, his worries, his world. No one could handle it, and the few he let talk to blew it off, and talked about something else. Uncomfortable with someone else's pain other than their own. He understood, they just didn't want to believe a world could be so cruel to one person. That death could hang around one person, and not strike.

Most days he didn't even want to talk to himself.

He was sure kids his age were all dramatic. But it wasn't arrogance when he said he was different. He hated drama, he hated teenagers. But it all found him, and they all loved to toy with him, until pain became his pleasure, until seeing his own blood turned him on, and seeing the blood of others was better than the best drug he'd tried. Till fire was beautiful, like a dancing swan, and screams of pain were addicting. Until he didn't even recognize his own face in the mirror. 'Who am I?' He'd ask, but he'd know the answer. He gave into the media, and they turned him into the beast he was now. The library was old, and wonderful, but eventually he just couldn't stay there.

Classes were boring. He read or drew through them. Or skipped them to hide in the library. Why bother? He'd ask himself everyday, many times a day. No one bothered to ask you how you were, or where you were, or what you were up to. He wanted to leave this place, but didn't know how. But as he sat in Math, he stared at his hand. The girl to his left, made a joke, insulting the teacher. Fat, and not in a pretty way. She could trim herself down, he thought, and wear pants that didn't let her belly hang over the sides by inches, and wobble like jello, ever inch she shifted. It distracted him plenty. Then there was the know it all asshole who sat behind her, and was constantly being annoying. So annoying he wanted to scream. Then the blond ass in the front, who thought looks, would get her places. She needed a good punch in the face, that's what she needed. He wasn't generally violent towards girls, but to her, and one other, he definitely was. Another blonde. She sat two rows to his left. Scene kid reject from hell, who tried her best to be mysterious, and in the end, only looked like a bigger idiot. There was a boy who said all manners of stupid things, and expected people to fawn over his feet.

Least to say, he hated his class. His life. His School. Himself. Then, as the long class time went by without a problem, at least, without the normal, rougher problems. He didn't see the two girls who constantly bugged him, so he just walked along down to the cafeteria without a word to anyone, hands in his pockets, listening to his iPod, wishing that maybe someone might take pity on him, and ask him his name. But of course no one would do that. He was the new kid, and no one liked the new kid. He made his way into the cafeteria, after getting a plate of salad, and milk. He hated milk, but he took it, knowing it was free. He could always give it to some poor kid who would want it. Not three minutes later, and he'd already given it away. Sitting down on one of the tables, he bent to take a bite of his food, sighing. He wasn't hungry. Never was. Hadn't been for weeks, and probably wouldn't be for a long time.

"Hey, Luxord."

He flinched at the sound of the voice. He turned slowly, to look up at the guy he'd been having problems with. Large, and pink haired. Who wore pink hair these days?! But he didn't say anything, just looked up into those eyes that could stop anyone cold, anyone but Luxord, who tried not to be bothered, when in fact he was so tired of being picked on, that now he too was beginning to flinch in fear of this person. They stared at one another for a moment. He sneered when Luxord looked down, giving up silently, and turned, but not before dumping his soup on the blonde.

Luxord couldn't help but hiss in pain, as the boiling liquid hit his thighs, his shins, and down to his new shoes, where the leather heated, and his feet ached. His eyes watered in pain, and he saw the bits of the chicken soup sticking to his black jeans, and shoes, looking like puke, and he himself wanted to as well.

"Sorry whore, wasn't intentional." The pink haired boy grinned.

Luxord never bothered to learn his name. Now he had, as he stood up, his legs causing pain to splinter his head in torment, and he grabbed his wrist, pulling his lighter out of his pocket. "You'll burn for that bitch." He snarled to the bully, as he lit his napkins on fire. The bully's eyes widened as he started to tug his hand.

"No! No! Stop!" He said as he struggled, lashing out at Luxord. But the blonde wouldn't have it. He didn't care if his face was hit, or his legs were kicked, he shoved the pink haired boys hand right into the fire, and laughed while he screamed. Students began to scream as well in the confusion of it all. But it didn't last long. Luxord couldn't stay there. He let him go, as he turned to run, food forgotten, as well as school. He couldn't stay there. But no one cared about that now did they? If he begged his parents to let him stay home from school for a day, they'd scoff, and tell him to get his ass to school. To deal with his problems head on. They never really did listen when he tried to tell them. Today wasn't half as bad as others, but it had finally pushed him over the edge.

Crumpling under the large tree in a local park, he struggled to keep from crying. He never cried. NEVER. Tears were a weakness he could not afford. If he showed weakness, they'd come after him, like rabid wolves. But as he took gulps of large air into his depleted lungs, he slowly peeled his hot wet pant legs up, and looked at his bright cherry red angry flesh of his legs. He couldn't go back to school. He burned a kid! It made him feel good though, hearing his pain. It only took seconds, but he did it. His thighs he knew would be the same engine bright red, and he wanted to sob large tears down his cheeks, and never go back. Back to parents who told him to shut up when he opened his mouth, to siblings who yelled at him for not being enough, to teachers who shook their heads because he was just another person, to kids who laughed because he didn't know how to be a kid and joke around like them. Back to a world where he didn't know how to be someone. In his world people burned, and they died. He saw corpses in his dreams, and he saw blood run down his arms in sweet cannibalistic bliss.

In the end he knew he had to return, but for now he was going to sit under that tree, and wish the world didn't exist anymore.


End file.
